


004 "accident/arrest"

by wheel_pen



Series: Iron Man AU [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fish out of Water, My Pepper is different, Pre-Iron Man, Swearing, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-08
Updated: 2013-04-08
Packaged: 2017-12-07 20:17:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony gets drunk. And drives too fast. Then gets hit by another car that runs a red light. Then gets arrested after assaulting a police officer. Did I mention the two prostitutes in the car with him? Fortunately Pepper is there to talk some sense into him, although Obadiah threatens that Pepper will have to be fired as punishment for Tony's massive screw-up. "His callousness was really making me nauseous (yes, I know, pot, kettle)."</p>
            </blockquote>





	004 "accident/arrest"

**Author's Note:**

> 1) My Pepper is very different from canon Pepper. Her personality/origin is very different; to separate her from canon Pepper I've given her a new last name and a different hair color.
> 
> 2) The bad words are censored. That's just how I do things.
> 
> 3) Stories are numbered in the order I wrote them, which isn't necessarily the order in which they occur. At some point I'll post a timeline.
> 
> I wrote this series after the first Iron Man movie came out. It's very AU but I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play with these characters.

             This incident I don't remember very well in its entirety, so I'll have to rely on the police reports and media coverage to fill in the blanks. That's a promising beginning, isn't it? Well, one night I went to a party and I drank too much. (I know, that doesn't narrow it down.) And I left in the company of two attractive women who happened to be—and I knew this—prostitutes. (Personally I feel there's nothing wrong with enjoying the services of a trained professional. I mean, think what c----y service I'd get if the dry cleaner was only an enthusiastic amateur.) And I left driving my own car. And I drove it quite fast. All of which would have ended well ( _very_ well) if some a-----e hadn't run a red light and crashed into me. At which point the police got involved, and even though it was totally not my fault, they didn't take too kindly to the fact that I smelled like a bottle of Scotch. And I was pretty p----d off at the whole incident, so when the cops suggested I better come with them, I—for lack of a better word—resisted.

            I wasn't proud of this. Of course there were a lot of things I did that I wasn't proud of. But this one was notable for the sheer concatenation of stupidities, any one of which would have kept the tabloids in the black for at least a week. Together, it was a paparazzi feeding frenzy, not to mention a legal nightmare.

            Pepper came to bail me out, of course. She wasn't at all intimidated by the seedy denizens of the holding cells, myself included. I was still pretty buzzed and had easily made friends with the other inmates, thinking of them as my brothers oppressed under a cruel regime.

            "Pep, Pep, Pep!" I shouted upon noticing her striding down the corridor. " _Vive la Revolution_! Pepper will bust us outta here!"

            "This is your assistant?" a gruff-looking biker named Lloyd commented. I believe he was in for car-jacking.

            "My _personal_ assistant," I emphasized lewdly (this was what Pepper told me later, anyway). "So what's the plan, Pep? How do we destroy this Bastille?"

            "Well, I gave the officer money, and now he's going to unlock the door," Pepper explained, as the officer did just that.

            "A bribe!" I exclaimed brightly. "Not very flashy, but effective. See you on the other side, boys!" Hearty cheers met my departure, or so I liked to recall.

            Pepper snuck me out the back way into an unmarked van. "Just like an alien abduction," I chattered. "Are you going to probe me now?" Well, she did. But not like _that_. I had blood all over my shirt from when I got punched in the nose by the police (having struck first, I really couldn't blame them for retaliating) and she wanted to make sure nothing was broken.

            Though she may have wished my jaw was. "Have you seen it on the news yet? Oh my G‑d! They _hit_ me, Pepper! Did you notice? And—my car! It's totaled! I'm sure it's totaled. Oh well, I was going to buy a new one anyway, I didn't like the color of the seats in that one. I'm going with black suede next time, because the grey stains too easily. Hey, you wanna hear this joke Lloyd told me? Stop me if you know it already. Two crack-whores walk into a bar—"

            I will never know the rest of the joke, because Pepper claimed I passed out around this point. I thought I remembered laughing a lot when Lloyd told it to me, so that's too bad. Anyway, the next thing I clearly remembered was waking up in bed several hours later. By this point in time Pepper had dealt with me drunk off my a-s on several occasions, so I didn't bother wondering how she got me upstairs and changed. No doubt Happy assisted. I crawled into the bathroom and took a long, hot shower, then slithered downstairs and hoped Pepper was making me some coffee.

            She was. "Please tell me there's nothing on the schedule before two today," I pleaded, gripping the mug. She gave me a look, and the events of the evening, besides being stupidly drunk, came flooding back to me. "Oh, s—t," I muttered, rubbing my bloodshot eyes with my palms.

            "You _forgot_?" she intoned, voice rising the tiniest bit.

            "It was a rough night, okay?" I protested.

            She turned back to continue messing with food items on the counter. "There's nothing on the schedule before two," she replied coolly. "There's nothing on the schedule at _all_ today." Her phone rang, the tinny noise piercing my brain. "Hello? No, he's not up yet. Of course, right away." She hung up.

            "Who was that?" I wanted to know.

            "One of your many admirers," Pepper responded. I trust you saw the sarcasm _now_. "They've been calling for hours, from Legal, from PR, from the Board…"

            If she was trying to make me feel sorry for her (which she probably wasn't), it wasn't working. This is exactly the kind of s—t she was paid to deal with. _I_ was the one who was suffering here. "Where's my phone?" I asked, glancing futilely around my immediate vicinity.

            "Why?"

            I glared at her, unimpressed by her suspicious and unsympathetic attitude. "Well what the h—l do you _think_ I want my phone for?"

            "To play Solitaire, perhaps?" she suggested dryly. "To take pictures? To check your non-existent schedule? Because you certainly aren't using it to make calls." See, no one else was ever around when Pepper berated me like this. I was left unprotected from the onslaught.

            "What do you mean, I can't make calls?" I snapped. "Where'd you put my g-----n phone?!"

            "Who would you call?"

            I tried to remember. "The dealership. I want to get them started on my new car. It's customized, you know."

            "There will be no phone calls from you today," Pepper informed me with what I felt was great moral superiority. I wasn't buying that. So she'd hidden my cell phone. There were other phones in this house. I picked up the one that hung on the kitchen wall and—no dial tone.

            "What did you do?" I was really getting p----d now. I didn't like being constrained. I probably wouldn't even have called anyone, it was just that now, apparently, I _couldn't_.

            "There will be no phone calls from you today," she merely repeated snidely.

            I glanced down at the phone sitting on the counter beside the sandwich she was preparing—her phone. When I looked up her eyes met mine, cool and a little challenging, as if saying, _Go ahead. Give me a reason to beat you down._ I was sure she could do it, too, somehow. So I turned away and hung up the kitchen phone, and by 'hung up' I mean 'slammed the handset onto the receiver so hard the whole thing was ripped from the wall.' Pepper was decidedly unimpressed. I sat back down at the counter with my coffee.

            "You should also avoid going outside or opening the shades," she advised, "unless you want your picture taken by the photographers in the street." I had wondered why the house was so dark.

            "Is it bad?" I finally asked, slightly less angry, at Pepper anyway. She was just trying to do her job, after all. She gave me a look in answer to my question, which I took as a 'yes.' I groaned. "J---s H. C----t, you'd think nothing else was going on in the world! One little mistake and—"

            I stopped because Pepper had turned and was gazing at me. "'One little mistake'?" she repeated dubiously, and with a touch of, dare I suggest it, disgust.

            "Okay, okay," I agreed glibly, "several mistakes." Her posture was still stiff. "Okay, come on, which one has really brought out this massive display of loathing? Hmm? The drinking? No, you should be used to that. The women? No, same thing. I _know_ you don't care about the car—"

            And then she looked at me with those shamer's eyes. She had this ability, sometimes, to just _look_ at me somehow, and suddenly it was like I realized what I was supposed to be feeling. What a normal person would be feeling. Which in this case was like some kind of low, scabby creature under a rock, like a-a dung beetle, only not the kind of dung beetle that was worshipped by ancient civilizations but like some kind of outcast dung beetle the other dung beetles spat on.

            I put my head down on the counter, the better to contemplate the list of egregious errors I had racked up in just one abbreviated evening. They are, again, as you may have guessed:

            1) Drank too much

            2) Drank too much and drove

            3) Drove too fast

            4) Assaulted police officer

(Notice I didn't put the prostitutes on the list.)

            "S—t," I groaned. "I really f----d up this time, didn't I?"

            "Would you like a sandwich?" Pepper replied instead. She was squeezing massive globs of honey onto a _piece of turkey_ and my stomach churned.

            "No. Not at all." A new sensation overtook me. For a moment I thought it was nausea, then I realized it was something else. Something I wasn't used to feeling. I had a question, but it was difficult to even articulate it. "What—er—How—um—" I swallowed and tried again as Pepper waited patiently. "There were other people in my car. Where did they go?"

            Pepper seemed to approve of this new line of thought. "They weren't hurt. The police let them go."

            I wondered briefly what kind of a damper this would put on my use of their company's services. "How about the a-----e who hit me?" This was what I had dubbed the other driver. Surely there was a _tick_ the outcast dung beetle spat on.

            "He's in serious but stable condition at the hospital," Pepper told me, and suddenly I was a louse on the tick of the outcast dung beetle. "They did some emergency surgery in the night but they think he'll be okay."

            "Oh, G-d," I sighed. "He _did_ hit _me_ , didn't he?" The note of uncertainty in my voice was extremely unusual.

            Pepper sat down opposite me with a large plate of sandwiches. "Yes, the police report says he ran a red light."

            "Should I pay his hospital bills, do you think?"

            Pepper nibbled on a sandwich and thought the question over seriously. "No, no yet," she finally decided. "If you offer to pay for anything, it could be taken as an admission of legal responsibility." But now I was feeling guilty and I was eager to do something about it. She stopped me from saying this, though. "It would be nice, but not smart. And although you have trouble with both of those concepts, in this case it would be better to be smart."

            "Ouch," I replied, understanding I fully deserved it. I took a sandwich from the plate and bit into it, then nearly gagged. "What the h—l?!"

            "You said you didn't want one," she pointed out, "so I made them how I wanted. Turkey, tomato, strawberry jam, Nutella, and honey."

            "Not bad," I decided as the flavor sank in. You got used to eating a lot of weird stuff with Pepper around. "But couldn't I—"

            "Maybe later we could get him to sign some kind of agreement releasing you from all further liability for a certain sum," Pepper suggested. "But _later_. And Legal won't even want to do _that_." Her phone rang again. "Hello? Oh, yes, sir. No, he's not up yet. Well, I don't know if he's even coherent yet, sir. Well, of course, sir, if that's what you want. I should warn you there's a crowd out front. Yes, sir." She hung up.

            "Who's coming?" I asked, becoming more alert. Perhaps it was the sugar rush.

            "Mr. Stane."

            I rolled my eyes. Great, perfect, fantastic, exactly who I wanted to see. "Call him back and tell him I'm busy wallowing in misery."

            "That won't stop him." True. Obadiah was one determined son of a b---h. "I'm supposed to have you showered, dressed, and able to think in twenty minutes."

            I put my head back down on my arms. "I don't want to think. I want to wallow."

            "Stop feeling sorry for yourself," Pepper advised, as if I could just flip a switch.

            "You just told me I _ought_ to feel bad!" I complained.

            "There's a difference between feeling bad but being determined to do better, and plain self-pity," I was informed, by someone whose emotional range was really pretty paltry, comparatively.

            "That seems like a fine f-----g line."

            "Nonetheless, that's what the books I've read say."

            Well, that makes sense. Pepper got _everything_ from books. It was like she was born the day before I hired her. "What books? Like self-help books?"

            Pepper nodded. "I find them very insightful about the human condition."

            "They're a load of c—p," I opined. "If you want to understand the human condition, read comic books." This was what Pepper and I talked about when we were alone.

            So I drank a bunch more coffee while Pepper answered a bunch more phone calls, as we waited for Obadiah to show up. I had a _lot_ I could say about him, but I was trying to keep this chronologically accurate. Obadiah was sort of like my mentor, you could say. I wouldn't call him a father figure, because I had an actual father for a number of years and he couldn't be replaced. But Obadiah was kind of like an uncle—a friend of my parents, around all the time when I was a kid. When my parents died he was probably the one person who kept me from utterly screwing up, both personally and professionally. I didn't learn _every_ lesson he tried to teach me (hence the situation currently under discussion) and other lessons of his I learned a little _too_ well (hmm, somehow the current situation _also_ fell into that category). But, if I was being honest, I would probably not have _survived_ to the current situation without his influence.

            But—I supposed people had mood swings—I did, at least—and G-d knew I drove most people who knew me to distraction at one point or another. But, the thing with Obadiah was, sometimes he really seemed to care about me and to be looking out for my best interests, trying to guide me towards being a better person. And other times, it seemed like he wanted to push me off a cliff. I didn't mean because he was momentarily frustrated with me—I meant, seriously, push me off a cliff so he could take my company in the direction he wanted to. For example, we had a strong difference of opinion when I wanted to diversify a little into energy with the arc reactor, and _he_ wanted to stay completely focused on weapons. Obviously I won that battle (it was _Stark_ Industries, after all), but you could see it in his eyes: for a moment there he was thinking a world without Tony Stark might mean his life was a lot easier.

            I wondered which mood he was going to be in today—paternal, shaking his head, quietly telling me that I needed to stop wasting my life and focus more on work (yeah, I'd heard that one a time or two before), or was it going to be frustration, impatience, and a tinge of homicide? Neither one was particularly appealing.

            Fortified with caffeine, I felt ready for either when he finally arrived at the house. Pepper had, thoughtfully, unplugged all the TVs and computers so I couldn't easily check the story out on CNN; I had almost forgotten there even _was_ a story until I heard the shouting of the "journalists" and saw the flash of the cameras as Pepper let Obadiah in. She quickly retreated to the kitchen, where she could still hear everything we said but wouldn't be in the line of fire.

            I could tell from his body language it was the murderous kind of mood he was in. "Tony, what the f—k were you thinking?! No, clearly, you _weren't_ thinking! You know, I'm sure you think it makes you look like a bada-s when you get mixed up in this kind of s—t, but believe it or not there are a lot of military people who don't _want_ their contracts to go to a man who gets caught driving drunk with two whores and then attacks a g-----n policeman!"

            "Okay, look, first, they were professional call girls—that _you_ introduced me to," I pointed out when he paused for a breath. "I didn't pick them up on a street corner. Second, the guy ran into _me_. And third, Pepper already chewed me out, so don't even bother trying to top it."

            "Pepper?!" Obadiah repeated, a bit incredulously. You know, when he got mad, his whole face and bald head turned an unhealthy shade of red. It was kind of scary, like his head might burst like a ripe tomato any second.

            "Yeah, Pepper really reamed me," I assured him, thinking of those shamer's eyes. "It was brutal. No more than I deserved, of course."

            " _Pepper_ is your _lapdog_!" Obadiah snapped, quite loudly. "She wouldn't take a _dump_ without clearing it with your schedule first!"

            A part of me wanted to laugh, because that was so true, but his tone was awfully mean. I didn't like other people to insult Pepper (that was _my_ job). "Hey, there's no need to drag Pepper into this," I told him sharply, contriteness vanishing. "It wasn't her fault."

            "Oh, not her fault?" Obadiah gave a bark of laughter that was not at all pleasant. "Her _only_ job is to make sure _your a_ -s is where it's supposed to be, and _not_ where it's _not_ supposed to be!" Which was so unfair of him, and a gross over-simplification. "And your a-s was definitely _not_ supposed to be behind the wheel of a car when you could barely walk!"

            I was starting to get offended here. "I am _very_ high functioning when s—t-faced!" I reminded him. "Nothing would have even happened if that a-----e hadn't run a red light and slammed into me!"

            His voice became lower and more threatening. "Well you had better hope that a-----e doesn't _die_ in the hospital, because then Stark Industries will be bleeding legal fees for the next twenty years!"

            "G-d, is money all you f-----g care about?" I snapped. His callousness was really making me nauseous (yes, I know, pot, kettle). "Don't ask me how I am or anything, I was only in a f‑‑‑‑‑g car wreck!"

            "You seem healthy enough to _me_ ," Obadiah observed, as though he wished _I_ were the a‑‑‑‑‑e lying in the hospital bed. "But someone's head is gonna roll over this, Tony. And since the Board can't very well fire _you_ , it's probably going to be _Pepper_ who takes the hit." My shock and dismay clearly showed on my face, I was sure, and the b-----d laughed a little more. "You thought you weren't going to be punished for this, Tony? Forget the legal fees, the stock price dropped ten dollars a share this morning. The Board has to show people it's _doing_ something to make sure this never happens again, and since they can't castrate you, or lock you up and throw away the key"—he looked like he would dearly love to do either, or both—"they'll want to blame it all on your most visible handler. She'll be lucky to get a job at McDonald's when this is over."

            Now, I was really angry. I didn't care who they were, mentor, family friend, whatever, no one came into my house and threatened to take Pepper away from me. Not to mention everything _else_ he said.

            "Nobody fires Pepper but _me_ ," I told him, steely-eyed. "And I sure as h—l wouldn't do it because _I_ f----d up. If the Board wants to make an example of someone highly visible, maybe they should consider _you_ ," I threatened in return. "I believe _you_ were at that party, too, and I don't recall you trying to take my keys away!"

            Oh, he didn't like that. I was probably the only person in the company who could fire the venerable Obadiah Stane, and I was just crazy enough to do it, too. You just never knew with me.

            We locked eyes for a few moments, staring each other down. He had to back down first, because his only other choice was to jump for my throat (at which point, I hoped, Pepper would have struck him over the head with something hard yet expendable, like a self-help book). He headed back to the door with a growl.

            "Expect phone calls from Legal and PR," he reminded me as a parting shot, "and stop f‑‑‑‑‑g dodging them!" I wanted to say I _hadn't_ been dodging them, then I remembered Pepper had been dodging them _for_ me, so I decided to be the better person and let him have the last word. Then he was gone. And good riddance, too. I should've known he was a bad seed then, but my nature is too forgiving.

            I bored holes in the door with my eyes for a moment, desperately wanting to kick, smash, or otherwise break something, just like the phone in the kitchen. The kitchen. Pepper!

            I ran in to see her sitting calmly at the counter eating her last sandwich (for the moment). I immediately leaned across the marble and clasped her free hand comfortingly. "Don't worry, Pepper, I won't let them get rid of you! Obadiah is just full of s—t, he can't do anything."

            "Yes, Mr. Stane was very angry," she agreed neutrally. "He probably just spoke before he thought."

            "Well, don't worry," I repeated, when she didn't seem to be worrying. "You won't be fired, I promise."

            "I appreciate that."

            I frowned at her. "You don't seem to be devastated by the idea of being forcibly parted from me," I observed with disappointment. This was not based solely on ego but also past experience.

            "Well, you _were_ rather firm with Mr. Stane in your defense of me," she pointed out, "and since you are incredibly stubborn, not to mention cunning and slightly insane—"

            "Stop, I'm blushing."

            "—I have no doubt that you would rather bankrupt the company than give in to a sensible solution," she finished.

            I clutched her hand tighter. "You think firing you would be _sensible_?" I asked, slightly horrified. "You weren't even _there_!"

            "Well, I think Mr. Stane was correct in that the gesture would appease the shareholders," she remarked.

            "F—k the shareholders!"

            "But I promise, I have no intention of going anywhere." She gave me a little smile and covered my hand with her other one. "Unless of course you continue to be an idiotic b-----d."

            "Well, that's not what I would call job security," I pointed out, but I knew she would stay even if I _was_ an idiotic b-----d. How could she not? I mean, I was Tony Stark. I could get past this incident, this road bump. It would just add to the legend. "The mystique, if you will," I explained to Pepper. She didn't seem impressed. "In a month I'll be dazzling the world with my new cluster missile and no one will even remember this."

            "And how is that cluster missile coming?" Pepper asked.

            I stood up. "Oh, yeah, I'd better start designing it," I decided. "I'm gonna be in the studio for a while, Pep. Hold my calls, okay?" I trotted towards the stairs just as her phone rang, leaving her looking mildly peevish at having to dodge for me. I paused on the top step and looked back. "You know, Pep, if you were _really_ my lapdog, we—"

            "Just a moment, Mr. McMannis, let me see if he's available to go over the police report," she said into the phone, giving me a narrow gaze, and I hightailed it downstairs.

 

            Needless to say, Pepper didn't get fired. Neither did Obadiah (G-d knew what would have happened if he had). And neither did I, of course. And eventually Obadiah apologized for his offensive comments (to me, not to Pepper) and all was fine again between us, because I like I said I had a forgiving, mild nature. It helped that Obadiah was one of the few people who weren't freaked out by Pepper—he genuinely seemed to like her, most of the time anyway.

            It wasn't that people _disliked_ Pepper, really; they just didn't know what to make of her, whether she was being serious or not, that kind of thing. Pepper could be pretty aggressive over the phone, for example, so people who only knew her that way usually thought she was a b---h. But whenever we were actually face to face with someone, Pepper would just smile a little bit and whoever it was would fall all over themselves trying to help us. It was really pretty bizarre—I accused her of using 'Jedi mind tricks' on more than one occasion. She didn't like me to talk about that, actually, which made me more suspicious than if she'd just flat-out denied it, or ignored my juvenile comments. But in the end I couldn't complain _too_ much, since it got me whatever I wanted—most of the time.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I read about "shamer's eyes" somewhere and thought it was a cool concept. I didn't make it up myself.


End file.
